


something about the boy

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Casual Ableism, Humor, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2416256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About three things Niall is absolutely positive. First, Zayn is the most attractive person he’s ever seen in real life. Second, the chances he’s actually a vampire are, like, slim to none. Probably. And third, he’s going to kill Harry for putting that idea in his head in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something about the boy

**Author's Note:**

> right, so. this is one of the most ridiculous things i've ever written. sorry! the summary is the only twilight reference, though, for what it's worth. 
> 
> thank you to sam for looking this over and her constant reassurance :)
> 
> title from the song of the same name by little mix.

It’s overcast; dark, angry clouds threatening rain even though it’s not quite eight. Niall checks the time on his mobile just to be sure and scowls. He eyes the crowded coffee shop wistfully for a moment, the queue so long people are spilling out the door, before tugging his beanie more securely over his sleep-rumpled hair and hurrying past. He’ll have to survive without caffeine or risk being late.

Being late is not an option today. Under normal circumstances, he’d slip into the back of the lecture hall 15 minutes after the start of class, fighting a yawn and countering his professor’s dark look with an easy grin. It’s not like it was Niall’s fault that English was a required course, all right, and that by the time he was able to register for classes all the later ones were already full. At least he shows up, like, _most_ of the time and makes an effort to take notes. (And okay, playing Candy Crush on his phone isn’t exactly taking notes, but that’s just semantics. See? Niall has learned something.) At any rate, Professor Winston had informed the class that under no circumstances would late students be eligible to take the midterm exam. He didn’t have to look directly at Niall when he said it, but Niall couldn’t be arsed to take it personally.

He reaches the lecture hall with two minutes to spare, sinking into his usual seat near the back and smiling sunnily at Winston. It earns him an eyeroll and Niall grins down at his mobile, idly checking his messages.

A soft noise – a quiet cough, someone clearing their throat maybe – catches his attention and Niall’s gaze flicks up involuntarily. Sitting a few rows in front of him is a dark-haired boy he’s never seen before, slouched back in his seat like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. As if he can feel Niall’s gaze on him, the boy turns his head until Niall can see his profile, back lit by the glaring fluorescent lighting illuminating the front of the room.

It takes Niall a few seconds to realize that his jaw has actually dropped, his mouth gaping stupidly. He snaps it shut with an audible click, but he can’t regain control of his spiraling thoughts quite that quickly. The boy is beautiful, is the thing, possibly the prettiest human being Niall has ever seen outside of a movie. Dark stubble covers his perfect jawline and Niall’s never been into beard-burn before, but suddenly it seems appealing.

Without really thinking it through, Niall lifts his phone up, angling it until he’s got the boy’s face centered on the screen. The boy is still obligingly looking to the side, showcasing ridiculous eyelashes that cast dark shadows across his equally ridiculous cheekbones, but he turns back towards the front of the room right when Niall goes to snap the picture.

“Shit. Fuck!” he mumbles under his breath. The picture comes out a dark blur, but Niall sends it to Harry anyway.

At the front of the room, Professor Winston clears his throat. “Phones away, please. You will have an hour and a half to complete the exam.” Niall tunes out the rest of the instructions, tucking his mobile away in his pocket and digging a number 2 pencil out of his bag. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to clear his head and push the distracting image of the boy’s face from his mind. If he fails this exam, he’ll most likely fail this class. He doesn’t think he’s up for seeing Winston’s smug face next semester if he has to retake it.

A thick packet drops onto his desk and Niall glances up.

“Good luck, Horan,” Winston murmurs. _You’re gonna need it_ , Niall hears.

He takes another deep breath and squares his shoulders, pencil gripped tight in hand. After scanning the first page, Niall feels an immediate sense of regret that he let Louis talk him into an all-night FIFA tournament last night instead of studying.

“It’s English, Niall. You speak English. How hard could it be?” Louis had reasoned. Niall’s first mistake had been forgetting that Louis is never reasonable. His second had been thinking that Winston wouldn’t be a complete bastard. With grim determination, Niall sets the pencil to the page and starts writing.

It’s not until an hour and a half later, after Niall has finished hastily scribbling his last answer, that he remembers the boy with The Face. Stretching his arms over his head until his spine cracks loudly, Niall glances around the now mostly-empty lecture hall.

The boy’s seat is vacant, his perfectly coiffed hair nowhere to be seen. Niall swallows his disappointment and turns in his exam with a tired attempt at his usual grin.

-

A brisk, slightly drizzly walk home later, Niall slams into the dorm room with a bang, kicking his shoes off in the general vicinity of his closet before flinging himself face down into his bed. He lands on something warm and a little boney that lets out a wheezing groan on impact.

“What the fuck,” he tries to say, but nearly chokes on a mouthful of curls instead. Pushing himself up onto his forearms, Niall looks down into Harry’s sleepily smiling face.

“Don’t ya have a home?” he grumbles. Underneath him, Harry stretches like a contented cat, tugging the blanket down far enough to reveal his bare chest.

“So help me god, Styles, if you’re naked in m’bed,” Niall threatens.

“Again, you mean?” Louis pipes up from across the room. Niall glances over to where Louis is lounging on his own bed, seemingly oblivious to the wardrobe’s worth of clothing piled up around him. He’s got his laptop and a bowl of what appears to be Ramen noodles both balanced precariously on his stomach.

“’M not naked,” Harry interjects. He squirms a little where Niall’s still got him inadvertently pinned down, grinning up at him cheekily. “Could be though, if you wanted.”

Louis snorts into his noodles. “Have some dignity, Harold. At least wait until the second date.”

Ignoring Louis, Niall shoves at Harry until he budges over and Niall can collapse onto the sliver of Harry-free bed. Unperturbed, Harry starts petting at Niall’s rain-damp hair. “How was your exam?”

“Nnpf,” Niall mumbles into his pillow. It smells like Harry’s shampoo. Niall wonders absently what the boy with The Face’s hair smells like. Probably something subtly delicious and also expensive. Definitely not strawberries. Harry’s got a bit of a thing about fruit.

Turning his head so his face is clear of fabric, Niall side-steps Harry’s question and declares, “I saw the most beautiful boy in existence t’day.”

His announcement is met with silence. Harry’s hand stills on his hair.

“I sent ya a snapchat,” Niall continues. “Did’ya get it?”

“I received a snapchat from you, yes,” Harry finally replies, voice stiff. “Looked more like a blurry shadow than _the most beautiful boy in existence_.”

Across the room, Louis starts cackling. “I think you’ve struck a nerve, Nialler. Jealous that someone has usurped your crown, love?”

Harry scowls darkly. “First of all, beauty is subjective, so, like, no one can have a crown. Also--”

“Pageants,” Louis interrupts, derailing Harry’s speech.

Closing his eyes, Harry sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Beauty pageants _objectify women_ , and anyway there’s a talent portion, not that that’s any better, but I mean, like, it’s not just beauty, although the swimsuit portion sort of undermines the whole thing, so really--”

Niall clamps a hand over Harry’s mouth to shut him up. “Can we focus, please? Harry, I’m askin’ ya as a friend ‘t support me, here. He was so pretty. I don’t even know if he was human.”

In response, Harry licks Niall’s palm. He yelps – in a perfectly dignified manner, ta – and snatches his hand back. Harry grins smugly.

“Oi. Louis, ya need ‘t keep your pet on a leash,” Niall complains.

Louis slurps up another mouthful of noodles. “You try sayin’ no to that face.”

Harry beams. “It’s the dimples,” he confides.

“Most beautiful boy in this room,” Louis assures him.

Niall snorts out a laugh. “What a victory.”

A moment later, he finds himself sprawled on the floor, groaning. “The fuck, Styles? Next time you wanna invade our room, take over Louis’ bed.”

Poking his head over the edge of the mattress, Harry peers down at him. “Louis’ bed smells like old socks. You can have yours back when you learn to be a gentleman.”

Niall looks over at Louis. “You gonna take this abuse?”

Still shoveling noodles in his mouth, Louis shrugs. “It’s true, innit? I’m cultivating a distinctive musk over here. Can’t help it if it’s overwhelming to Harold’s delicate sensibilities.”

“I’m very delicate, Niall,” Harry agrees.

“I’m goin’ ‘t request a new roommate,” Niall decides.

He’s hit in the face with two pillows that smell like an odd combination of dirty socks and strawberries. It smells weirdly like home.

-

When Niall sinks into an empty seat ten minutes before the start of class, he’s met with a surprised look from Professor Winston.

“You’re early today, Horan,” he comments, dark brow raised in question.

“Just tryin’ ‘t take advantage of the opportunity ‘t enrich my mind,” Niall replies, grinning brightly. He very carefully doesn’t scan the mostly empty room for coiffed hair and a pair of sharp cheekbones.

An amused look playing across his face, Winston says dryly, “If you’re that concerned about your grade, there are tutoring services available on campus. Do take advantage; I’d hate to see you here next semester.”

Niall’s smile tightens and he pretends to be absorbed with something on his mobile. His midterm grade had been in the backseat of his mind, in all honesty; he’d been too busy day dreaming about chiseled jaws and whiskey-colored eyes to worry about something as mundane as marks.

He’s brought back to reality when Winston returns his exam, marked up in an alarming amount of red and sporting a large D- scribbled aggressively across the top. Right. Perhaps the Candy Crush had been a poor life choice. Niall reflects that he doesn’t actually know the definition of semantics.

With a resigned sigh, he pulls a notebook out of his bag and flips through the mostly empty pages as the rest of the class slowly stumbles into the lecture hall. There’s a half-filled page of generally illegible notes he suspects is from the first day of class and a concerning grocery list in Louis’ chicken-scratch that just says condoms, baking soda, and vinegar. The rest is blank.

At the front of the hall, Winston clears his throat before launching into an incredibly dull lecture about the plight of male protagonists in American literature. Niall makes an effort to take notes, he really does.

But he can’t help the way his eyes flit around the room, scanning the seats for the boy with the face and coming up frustratingly empty.

-

“”M losin’ my goddamn mind.”

“It’s always in the last place you look,” Harry replies sagely.

Niall glares at him.

“What our dear Harold meant, Nialler, is please: tell us more about your mental breakdown,” Louis adds smoothly.

“That’s not any better,” Niall complains, shoving a spoonful of mac-n-cheese into his mouth. It’s hard to be miserable and eat mac-n-cheese, but Niall’s never been one to shy away from a challenge.

Across the table, Harry rearranges the cubed fruit on his tray into color-coordinated groups with a pair of chopsticks. Niall doesn’t ask. Harry stabs a chunk of melon and brings it to his mouth, nibbles at it delicately. Louis watches in fascination.

“It’s like seeing an ape its natural habitat,” he whispers loudly. Harry chucks a piece of watermelon at him; it hits Louis’ cheek with a satisfying splat.

Niall points his spoon at Louis. “Do not,” he orders, “engage in a food fight. I swear ‘t god, Louis, I can’t survive gettin’ banned from the cafeteria again.”

Louis makes an aggrieved face like Niall has just informed him that his childhood dog has died, but manages to restrain himself from flinging food back in Harry’s face.

“So anyway,” Harry says, smiling serenely, “you were having a mental breakdown?”

Niall sighs into his mac-n-cheese. It’s the best opening he’s going to get. “Remember that boy I told’ya about? The one in my English class?”

Harry’s smile slips a notch. Louis’ grin grows predatorily.

“The pretty one, right? The one that outshines Harry? Would that be the boy you’re referring to, Nialler?”

Cubed fruit forgotten, Harry crosses his arms over his chest in a pout.

“Oh, f’fuck’s sake,” Niall groans. “You’re such a child, Harry.”

“I’m feeling under appreciated,” Harry sniffs. Louis rubs his shoulder consolingly and offers him a slice of cantaloupe. It’s disgustingly domestic.

“So tell us about your boy, then,” Louis orders after Harry has accepted the fruit offering, turning his sharp gaze back to Niall.

Niall shrugs. “Nothin’ ‘t tell, is there? He hasn’t shown up since the midterm. Been two weeks. Startin’ ‘t think I imagined him.”

“You said you didn’t see him before the midterm, either,” Harry points out, ego fully restored. “Maybe it was a sleep-deprived induced hallucination?”

“In retrospect, that FIFA tournament was probably a bad idea,” Louis muses.

Niall snorts. “Ya think?”

That’s when it happens. He’s scraping the last of the mac-n-cheese from his bowl, wallowing in misery, when he looks up and nearly chokes.

Sitting at a table across the cafeteria is the boy with The Face, looking effortlessly cool in a black leather jacket as he nods agreeably at a broad-shouldered boy in white. He looks even more devastatingly good-looking than Niall remembered, and Niall remembers being very devastated. He feels a bit faint.

“Y’alright there, pal?” Harry asks with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Louis narrows his eyes, swiveling in his seat to see where Niall’s gaze has snagged. “Or a figment of his imagination,” he says.

Harry’s eyes widen before he turns too, and then all three of them are staring openly at the boy. Niall can feel his cheeks heat in a blush. The boy is going to notice their blatant staring and Niall is going to die of embarrassment. This is not the legacy Niall wanted to leave behind.

“Holy shit,” Louis finally says, shattering the moment. “You weren’t kidding. He looks like a marble statue. But, like. Real.”

Harry’s face is hilarious; a warring combination of grudging admiration and jealous outrage. Jealous outrage eventually wins.

“His hair is stupid,” Harry says sulkily, finally turning away from the boy, who thankfully doesn’t appear to have noticed all the ogling. Niall breathes a sigh of relief, but Harry’s comment still rankles.

“Yeah, well at least he doesn’t look like a fuckin’ pirate.” It’s admittedly not one of his better insults, but it earns him a laugh from Louis nonetheless.

Louis turns his laugh into an unconvincing cough at Harry’s glare. “Excuse me, Niall. Do you have a problem with my aesthetic?”

“Oh, is _that_ what we’re callin’ it now?”

“Now, now, Niall,” Louis interrupts. “A lot of good t-shirts have lost their lives for the cause. You shouldn’t mock.”

Harry touches a hand to his shirt-turned-headscarf defensively. “I hate you both,” he mutters.

“You love us,” Louis says with confidence, stealing a chunk of fruit from Harry’s tray and attempting to toss it into the bird’s nest of his hair. Harry swats him away, protesting loudly, and Niall risks another glance at the boy.

His table is empty.

A foot nudges his, and Niall looks up to see Louis’ knowing smile. “If it’s any consolation,” he offers, “either he’s real, or it’s a shared hallucination.”

“Thanks f’the solidarity.” Niall rolls his eyes, but nudges Louis’ foot back.

-

The boy doesn’t show up for class again, but all of the sudden it’s like he’s everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

On Tuesday night, Niall is working on a paper in the library when he glances out the window and sees the boy wearing his customary black, smoking a cigarette just outside the doors. Niall shoves his laptop and books into his bag, a half-formed plan to ask the boy about their English class and then for his number already in mind, but by the time he escapes the library, the boy has disappeared again, like a ghost into the night.

Harry snapchats him a picture on Wednesday from some weird art show that _could_ be of a person. Maybe. If you squint. Harry swears up and down that it’s the boy, pouting impressively all the while, so Niall gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Late Thursday night (early Friday morning, really), Louis stumbles into their room, reeking of beer and giggling drunkenly.

“Niall,” he whispers loudly. “Niaaaaaaaall. Y’awake?”

Still half-asleep, Niall flings an arm out and reaches down, feeling blindly along the floor until his fingers connect with something. A trainer, by the feel of it. He chucks it in the general direction of Louis’ head.

There’s a thump, then a yelp. Niall grins.  

“Fuck you,” Louis whines a moment later, a disembodied voice in the dark. “See ‘f I tell you Zayn’s name.”

Niall sits up, interrupted sleep forgotten. “Zayn?”

“Oh fuck,” Louis huffs out a breathy laugh, falling onto his bed with loud groan of protest from the mattress. “Didn’t mean to say ‘is name. Was gonna make you--” he hiccups “--work ‘f it.”

“How t’fuck did ya find out his name?” Niall presses, suddenly feeling wide awake.

Louis’ answer is a loud snore. Niall’s going to _kill_ him.

After he gets an answer, obviously.

-

The blare of an alarm wakes him up a little past seven. Groaning, Niall rolls over and slaps at his clock until it finally goes silent. The quiet is shattered a moment later when Louis grunts before rolling over and resuming his obnoxious snoring.

Last night comes rushing back and Niall nearly throws his other trainer at the Louis-shaped lump under the blankets. It’d serve him right, but he maintains his composure, only because he doesn’t have time to fuck around and make it to English on time.

(The boy may not make it to class -- _ever_ \-- but Niall can’t afford any more poor marks. He’s in serious danger of having to retake the class and the last thing he wants is to suffer through seeing Professor Winston’s smug, bearded face everyday.)

Pulling on a pair of mostly clean jeans, Niall shoves a snapback over his sleep-mussed hair and grabs his bag before heading to the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob before turning back and resetting his alarm.

It’ll go off again in 15 minutes. Louis will have to climb out of bed to shut it off.

With a grin, Niall heads to class, slamming the door loudly behind him.

-

Niall should have stayed in bed. The longer class drags on, the more evident it becomes. Winston's droning voice is giving him a headache and his concentration is shot to shit thanks to Louis and his drunken shenanigans. To top it off, apprehension is beginning to roil in his stomach. They're supposed to get their papers back today and Niall needs to get a decent grade to make up for his abysmal midterm or he's fucked.

He wonders absently how the boy with The Face -- _Zayn,_ he has a name now, unless Louis is full of shit -- is doing in this class. Can't be doing well, since he never shows up. Maybe he'll be stuck in it again next semester with Niall. It’s a small consolation.  

After what feels like ages later, Winston finally, mercifully comes to the winding end of his lecture and digs a stack of papers from his briefcase. One by one, he calls the class up to the front of the hall to pick up their papers. It doesn’t take long to get to the H's and then it's Niall’s turn.

He shuffles to the front of the room, an easy smile sitting on his face. It drops right off when Winston hands him his paper. " _See me_ " is scrawled in red across the top. There isn’t even a grade.

"Um." Niall says. Winston gestures for him to take a seat while he finishes handing back the rest of the papers. Feeling miserable, Niall slumps into the offered seat, letting his head thunk down onto the desk in defeat. He tries to tune out the endless buzz of Winston’s voice, but his ears perk up at the name _Malik, Zayn_.

Huh. Maybe Louis is to be believed, after all. Niall lifts his head to peer around the room, but Zayn doesn’t appear to pick up his paper. Niall wonders how he even turned it in, since he definitely wasn’t in class last week, either. He doesn’t have much time to unravel that particular mystery before the last of the class has trickled out of the room and Winston is beckoning him back up to the podium.

Climbing slowly out of his seat, Niall cautiously approaches. “Um. Sir?”

“Horan,” Winston replies. He sounds tired. “You’ve been making an effort these past few weeks, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.” He pauses, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “However, it doesn’t appear to have improved the quality of your work.”

“Oh.” It feels like the word has been punched out of him.

“I don’t want to see you here next semester, Niall,” Winston continues, his eyes unfairly kind. “You’ve got a lot of potential, but I think you need help tapping into it. Have you given any thought to tutoring? It’s peer-to-peer, and I have someone in mind, if you’re interested.”

“Well…” Niall starts, hesitating.

“Did I mention I give extra credit to students who participate?”

“Right.” He sighs. “Sign me up, then.”

Winston beams. “Excellent! I’ll have Zayn email you to get started. He's a brilliant student. I think you'll learn a lot from him.”

"Zayn?" Niall chokes out. This is a dream. He pinches his forearm and has to swallow the noise of pain that tries to escape. Okay. Maybe not a dream then.

Still smiling, Winston shrugs. “Unbelievably poor attendance, but it doesn’t reflect in his work. He’ll be pleased to have someone to tutor to make up for his participation grade.”

“Right,” Niall says again. This is a lot for his sluggish brain to process. Winston shoos him from the lecture hall then and Niall walks home in a daze. When he lets himself into the room, Louis is still snoring away. This, as least, is something Niall knows how to handle. Toeing off his trainers, he reaches down and chucks both of them at Louis.

Louis sits up, sputtering indignantly. “What the fuck? What’re you -- fuck!”

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Niall singsongs. "Did’ya have a nice night, wanker?”

“I did nothing to deserve this abuse,” Louis moans, flopping back down and burying his head under his duvet.

"Don't you dare go back ‘t sleep," Niall warns. "You owe me an explanation."  

"For what?" Louis mumbles into his pillow. "You know I'm an obnoxious drunk. I'm obnoxious _sober_. What's to explain?"  

"Not that, christ.” Anyone who’s met Louis for five minutes knows he’s obnoxious. Endearingly obnoxious, in a way that gets under your skin like lovable parasite, but. Obnoxious, none the less. “I meant about Zayn."  

"Ooohhhh." Louis rolls over to shoot Niall a mischievous grin. "I forgot about that!"

Unimpressed, Niall crosses his arms and raises his eyebrow. "Well?"

Louis sits up, rubbing at his eyes and shrugging. "Not much to tell. Met his mate at a party. That kid that was with him in the cafeteria, remember? Told me that your boy's name is Zayn, and he's an English major."

"That makes sense," Niall says without thinking.

"Hmmm?” Louis says around a yawn.  "What makes sense?"

"Oh. Um." Shit. If Louis finds out that Zayn is tutoring him, he will be insufferable. He takes the piss enough as it is.  

Unfortunately for Niall, Louis is like a pitbull when he scents a secret, even when he’s half asleep. He rolls over, squinting blearily. "What are you keeping from me, Nialler?"

"Nothin’," Niall says immediately.

Louis eyes him critically. "That why you're blushing then?"

"What? ‘M not blush--  it’s just… it's hot in here." Niall is quickly losing the upper hand. He looks around for something else to throw at Louis, but comes up disappointingly empty.

"It's something about Zayn, isn't it?"

Niall scoffs. "How t'fuck would'ya know that?"

Louis grins victoriously. "Niall. The only time I have _ever_ seen you blush is when someone mentions Zayn, and I’ve seen your dick more than’s probably healthy between mates. It's adorable, actually. The blushing, I mean. Not your dick,” he adds as an afterthought.   

"Fuck off," Niall says, flopping back onto his own bed. "I don't have ‘t put up with a fuckin’ inquisition.”

"Save yourself the trouble and tell me right now," Louis suggests. “I'm going to find out eventually. You'll slip and tell Harry and you know he can't keep a secret to save his life."

It's true. Harry's next to worthless with secrets, but his big dumb Bambi eyes make it impossible to stay mad at him. Niall weighs his options before sighing in defeat.

"Fine. Fine! Zayn's going ‘t be tutoring me in English, okay? I’d like ‘t drop the subject now."

Louis’ face lights up like Christmas came early and he reaches gleefully for his phone, probably to text Harry and ruin Niall’s life. Niall is going to live to regret this.

-

Niall checks his email obsessively all weekend, much to Louis’ delight and Harry’s disappointment, but his inbox remains discouragingly Zayn-free.

He's about to go bed late Sunday night, giving up on his reading for music theory, when he reaches for his laptop to check one last time. He nearly drops it in excitement when he sees the subject line "english tutoring" from one Zayn Malik. The message is short, just a few lines asking if Niall wants to meet up at the library sometime next week. If Niall rewrites his answer a few (dozen) times before he finally settles on a reply that seems casual, but not _too_ casual, well. Louis and Harry aren’t around to take the piss and he wants to make a good first impression, is all.

He thinks he'll have a hard time falling asleep, waiting for Zayn's response, but he's out like a light within minutes.

-

Zayn agrees to meet up with him Wednesday night.

Objectively speaking, Niall knows it’s not a date, or anything of the sort. But. He still can't figure out what the fuck to wear.

"I think lilac is your color," Harry informs him. He's half-naked, lounging on Niall's bed like he owns the place. Typical Wednesday night, really.

Minus the bit where Niall is about thirty seconds from having a panic-attack over his fucking _outfit_.

"Lilac?" he asks dubiously, holding up the purple top in question.

"Yes," Harry confirms. "It makes your eyes pop."

"Jesus," Louis interjects. "Forget about your eyes. Wear something sleeveless. Show off your arms."

"Don't objectify Niall!" Harry scolds him. Louis rolls his eyes and Harry turns his earnest smile towards Niall. “It totally doesn’t matter what you wear. You’re gonna dazzle Zayn with your mind.”

Niall laughs and pretends that it doesn’t sound a little hysterical. “He’s tutorin’ me in English ‘cause ‘m in danger of failin’. Don’t think he’s gonna be too impressed with me mind.”

“Don’t put yourself down, mate,” Louis chides him. “You’re brilliant. Zayn’s gonna love you.”

His smile feels a little more natural, after that.

-

By the time Niall figures out what to wear (a t-shirt that is neither lilac nor sleeveless, but brings out the hint of green in his eyes and clings snugly to his biceps) he's nearly late. He reaches the library breathing a little heavily and can feel a slight flush on his face. So much for first impressions. A quick glance around the library reveals he’s beaten Zayn, so Niall snags an empty table near the door to watch for him.  

After ten minutes have gone by, he starts to get a little apprehensive. At a quarter past, he refreshes his email compulsively, scanning his inbox for a message from Zayn requesting to cancel or reschedule or _something_.

By the time eight-thirty rolls around, Niall's inbox is still empty and he’s about ready to pack his things up and retreat to his dorm, where he plans to bury himself underneath his covers and never ever come out. Louis can bring him snacks from the cafeteria and Harry can pet his hair and he will live out his life as a hermit. It's a workable plan.

Someone clears their throat and Niall looks up from where he's aggressively trying to shove his books into his overstuffed bag.  

"Sorry 'm late," Zayn says, smiling ruefully. “Lost track of time." He takes in Niall's half-packed bag and deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. "Ah. Did yah want to reschedule, or...?"  

Grinning a bit manically, Niall sets his book back on the table like nothing’s amiss. "No. Nope! This is fine. Great, actually."

Zayn slides into the seat across from him. "So what d'ya need help with, then?"

"Um." Niall shakes his head, trying to focus. Zayn’s got a thick accent and it’s a little hard to concentrate on, like, maintaining a conversation when he keeps looking at Niall with his _face_. Niall takes a deep, calming breath. "Totally fucked up my last paper. Winston said I should g’over it with ya, figure out where I went wrong and re-write it ‘t bring my grade up?"

"Sure," Zayn agrees easily. "Mind if I read it over first?"

Niall pulls the paper from his bag, but hesitates before handing it over.

"Um," he says again, licking his lips. "Don't like. Don't laugh, okay? 'M not so great at English, apparently."

Zayn smiles so big it crinkles his nose. Niall has never seen anything so cute in his life, and he spends _a lot_ of time around Harry and his dimples.

"No worries, mate. I won't laugh at'cha. Besides, Winston's kind of a pretentious dick. Doubt you're as bad as he thinks ya are."

Niall smiles back gratefully and lets Zayn take the paper from his slack grip. He's not sure what to do with himself while Zayn reads it over, occasionally humming to himself as he flips through the pages. Seems weird to just, like, stare at him. Niall eventually decides to look around the library, like the ceiling is particularly interesting. His eyes keep flitting back to Zayn's face, though, entirely without Niall's permission.

Zayn is so totally engrossed in his reading that Niall starts to feel a little bolder. He lets his eyes wander over the angles of Zayn's face, unabashedly checking him out. He thought for sure that up close, he would be able to see some kind of flaw. Large pores or a slightly crooked nose, _something_. Zayn's just as breath-taking up close, though.

Niall wonders if his eyelids get tired, holding up those lashes all day. He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice at first that Zayn's looked up from the paper, watching Niall with an amused smile quirking his lips.

"Have I got somethin' on my face?" he asks.

Niall starts. "Uhh. Sorry?"

Zayn looks entirely too amused. "You're starin', mate.”

Niall wills himself not to blush. If the heat in his cheeks in any indication, it doesn’t work.

"Just admiring your beard," he blurts out. "Can't grow more 'n peach fuzz, meself."

That earns him a delighted laugh from Zayn, who reaches out to rub his fingertips fleetingly over Niall’s chin. Niall probably imagines the way it jolts like a shock of electricity.

“Got a bit of a baby-face, but it’s all right. You’re cute,” Zayn says. Niall feels like the floor has just dropped out from under him, but Zayn continues like he hasn’t just given Niall a heart palpitation. “All right, so I don’t think your paper was shit at all, but I see why Winston’s bitching about it. I think if we tweak your thesis a bit and tighten some of your arguments - er. This is okay, right?”

Niall looks up to meet Zayn's gaze. He's still smiling, but it's a little shy now, like he's honestly worried that Niall doesn't care about his opinion.

"Please, Zayn," Niall says. "You're doin' me, like, a huge favor, tutorin' me like this. 'Course it's okay. I'll make whatever changes ya want."  

Zayn rubs his hand sheepishly over the back of his neck. "'M not, like, some English prodigy, or whatever Winston's told you," he mumbles.

"Don't need a prodigy, do I?" Niall says. "Just need a passin' grade."  

That makes Zayn look up again, face split into a wide grin. "Now _that_ I can help with."

-

It’s chilly by the time they leave the library and Niall wraps his arms tighter around himself against the bite of autumn wind. Zayn appears unaffected by the cold, reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket to unearth a pack of cigarettes. Niall watches with rapt attention as Zayn places a cigarette between his lips, the orange flicker dancing across his face as his cheeks hollow when he lights it. With a practiced flip of his wrist, Zayn flicks the lighter closed before shoving it back in his pocket.

He notices Niall watching and politely blows a stream of smoke away from him. “Sorry, shoulda asked first. All right if I smoke?”

Niall makes a strangled sort of sound. “‘S fine,” he finally gets out.

Zayn takes another drag, lips pursed around the end of the cigarette, and Niall nearly drops his backpack.

“I should. Um. Gotta go.”

It’s hard to say for sure in the dark, but Niall could swear Zayn’s eyes are laughing at him.

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “See ya around, yeah?”

Niall turns to flee, but Zayn’s voice stops him before he takes more than a few steps.

“Hey, wait -- can I get your number?”

Whipping his head around so fast he nearly breaks his neck, Niall gapes a bit at Zayn. “I, uh. What?”

Zayn flicks a bit of ash from his cigarette, gesturing for Niall to come closer with his other hand. “In case we need to meet again for tutoring, yeah? I check my phone more than my email.

“Oh. Right.” Niall shuffles closer, swallowing the disappointment as Zayn digs around his pocket for a pen. Holding his cigarette between his teeth, he grabs Niall’s wrist, turning his hand until his open palm is facing up. Zayn scribbles his number messily across Niall’s skin, fingers digging into Niall’s wrist to hold his hand still. Niall hopes he can’t feel the way Niall’s pulse is racing.

“Text me so I have your number too, okay?”

Niall mumbles a confirmation before fleeing. This time, Zayn doesn’t stop him, but the lingering scent of smoke follows him home.

-

"So." Louis says the moment Niall steps foot in the room. Niall should have known he’d be walking into an ambush. "How was the big date?"

"Wasn't a date," Niall reminds him, throwing his backpack down and perching on the foot of his bed to toe off his trainers. Harry is curled up on Niall’s pillow like an oversized cat. Of course he's still here.

Louis rolls his eyes. “You spent two hours picking out your outfit. It was a date.”

"I don't think that's how you define what a date is,” Harry says thoughtfully.  

"Why don't you two go ‘t Harry's room to debate?" Niall helpfully suggests. "Some of us have class in the morning."

Louis pins him into place with an icy glare. "Please. You're not going to bed until you tell us everything. C'mon Horan, you're the only one in this room even close to pulling anyone."  

Harry's grin slides into something a little dirty, so Niall thinks that statement isn't quite true. He'd rather not know about Harry's sexcapades though. He might have a cherubic face, but Harry’s absolutely filthy.  

"What d'ya wanna know?" Niall asks. "He helped me with the paper. We sat in the library, were chaperoned by a librarian the entire time. Pretty tame evening."

"Boo," Louis complains. "You didn't even pull him into a back corner to snog? You're off your game."

"Off my - the fuck? This isn't a _game_ , Louis. I don't just wana snog Zayn in some fuckin' corner, christ. "

"No," Harry grins. "Niall wants to marry him and have his babies. These kinds of things take time, Louis. There is _wooing_ involved.”

While Louis starts in on a rant on why Harry should never use the word ‘wooing’ in his presence ever again, Niall takes advantage of the distraction to slip off to the bathroom, fingers gripping his mobile tightly. He locks the door behind him before carefully typing in Zayn’s number.

He stares at the blank message for a long moment before shaking his head. Zayn’s just tutoring him, they aren’t even _mates_ , he doesn’t need to agonize over something as simple as a text like a school boy with a crush.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Niall shoots off a quick text.

_**hey, its niall :)** _

Placing his phone on the countertop, Niall goes through his usual ritual of washing his face and brushing his teeth. He’s just rinsing toothpaste out of his mouth when his phone vibrates with a new message.

_**thanks mate. have a good night aha x** _

Niall stares at the text for a long moment, trying and failing not to overanalyze that innocent little x. By the time he creeps back into the room, Louis is watching a movie on his laptop and Harry’s disappeared. Niall curls up in bed, back to Louis, protectively cradling the hand with Zayn’s inky number against his chest.

-

Friday morning, Niall actually wakes up before his alarm, (he leaves it on, though, just to annoy Louis, who’s still snoring away) and practically skips to class.

He hands his revised paper in to Winston before the start of class, who looks faintly impressed and promises to have it graded over the weekend. Beaming, Niall deposits himself in his usual seat near the back. His good mood is only soured slightly when Zayn, once again, fails to show up for class.

Lounging back in his seat, Niall pulls his phone out of his pocket, rereading Zayn’s text for the hundredth time.

He admits that maybe he’s a school boy with a crush. But at least he’s going to pass English.

-

“It’s just, like. His face, you know? It’s so. And then his eyelashes, have I said?”

“You’ve said.” Louis looks like he’s about two seconds from chucking the controller at Niall’s face and storming out of the room. Biting down on his lip hard enough to break the skin, Niall forces himself to stop talking about Zayn.

Five minutes go by with nothing but the sound of FIFA and Harry’s weird hipster music. Then: “He just. Fuck, Lou, he smells so good.”

A muscle in Louis’ jaw twitches. “If you don’t shut up about Zayn’s fucking face for five fucking minutes--”

“Oh my god,” Harry sits up suddenly and nearly topples of Niall’s bed. His iPod isn’t so lucky and falls to the floor with a bang. Niall winces, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice. “Oh my god,” he says again, “I just figured it out. He’s a _vampire_.”

Louis meets Niall’s eye about a half a second before they both dissolve into giggles. It takes Niall a minute to realize that Harry isn’t laughing, but is instead looking at them with the most betrayed expression on his face.

“You’re not – are ya serious, Haz? Vampires aren’t, like… they aren’t _real_ , mate.”

“We’ve all seen his face,” Harry counters doggedly. “He’s clearly not human, and he’s got Niall, like, bedazzled.”

Louis snorts. “He’s prettier than you, so he must be supernatural? Logical conclusion.”

“No! Well, yes. Hear me out, okay?”

Niall exchanges a glance with Louis, who raises a brow.  "All right, Hazza. Let's hear it, then."  

Harry sits up, clearing his throat importantly. "Right. First of all, have you noticed that no one has been able to get a clear picture of him?"  

Louis looks like he’s barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes. " _What?_ "  

"Remember? Niall tried to send me a picture of Zayn in class, but it turned out all blurry. Same thing happened when I tried to send Niall a picture from that art show."  

"’T be fair, we still don't know that was really Zayn." Niall points out.

"It _was_!” Harry actually stamps his foot like a toddler. “His image can’t be captured in a photograph.”

Louis shakes his head. "Or you're both shit photographers. "

"Okay, fine. How 'bout the fact that Zayn doesn't ever go out when it’s sunny?”

"Uhh..."  Niall scratches his head, thinking back.

“We’ve only ever seen him at night, in the library or cafeteria. He _n_ _ever_ goes to his morning class."  Harry sounds triumphant.

"Well that's blatantly untrue," Louis argues. “He showed up for the midterm, right, Ni? Bright and early."

"Yeah," Niall says slowly. "Though.... it was raining that day, wasn't it? No sun."

Louis' mouth gapes open. "Don’t tell me you believe this shit."  

"No, 'course not," Niall says hurriedly. "Just like. Weird coincidence, is all."  

Harry only looks more determined to convince them. "Have either of you ever seen him eat?"

"Oh, for fucks' sake." Louis flops backwards with a groan, flinging his arm over his face. “I cannot believe we’re having this discussion.”  

Niall, however, carefully considers it. “No,” he’s finally forced to admit. "Even when we saw him that time in the cafeteria, he didn't have any food."

"See? See? It's all adding up!" Harry gloats.

"This is ridiculous, " Louis argues. “You saw him not eat one time, and suddenly he’s a vampire?”

Harry gives Niall an imploring look. "You believe me don't you, Niall?"

"Uh... well, it's certainly a lot of interesting facts, I guess, " Niall concedes. "But I'm with Louis. Vampires aren't real. Sorry, Haz."  

Harry crosses his arms sulkily. "Okay. I admit it's just a theory, at this point. But I’m going to prove it."

Louis reaches for the mini-fridge, sticking his hand all the way to the back where they keep the beer. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Niall would point out that it’s barely two in the afternoon, but that would greatly reduce the chances Louis will hand him a bottle.

-

"Wearing all black is not a sign of being a vampire. Just means he’s like, goth or something."  

"Everybody knows vampires wear all black,” Harry says with authority. “Put in on the list.”

Despite being significantly drunker than he was at two in the afternoon, Niall is still having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that this is an actual thing that’s happening. Dutifully, he adds ‘wears all black’ to the list before finishing off the last of his beer.

“Y’know, this isn’t very scientific,” he says dubiously.

"Vampires defy the laws of science." Harry says dismissively. A moment later he adds thoughtfully, “But that’s a good point. We need to develop some tests to prove for sure he's a vampire."

"Like what?"

Scratching his chin, Harry stops to think. "Garlic," he finally decides. "We need to find out if he's allergic."

"What about blood-drinking?” Louis asks. He’s spent the better part of the last hour lounging on his bed, trying to derail Niall and Harry’s efforts to make a Vampire Facts list. "Are you going to offer him some blood see if he says yes?"

Harry scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Louis. That's just rude."

"Rude," Louis repeats in disbelief, sitting up to shoot them an incredulous look. "Is there some kind of vampire social code that I am unaware of? Are you an expert in vampire manners? Have you taken a class in vampire etiquette?"

Niall decides that he hasn’t had nearly enough beer for this conversation, but sadly they have managed to empty out the mini fridge.

“Hey,” he says, interrupting Harry and Louis’ heated argument on vampire morals. “Fuck this. Let’s go ‘t a pub.”

Louis grins. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all night, Horan.”

-

In retrospect, this is possibly the worst idea Niall’s had all night, and he and Harry spent not an insignificant amount of time drunkenly debating the ethics of staking Zayn.

(“They do it on Buffy all the time, Niall.”

“Yeah, but I mean, even if he _is_ a vampire, we have no evidence he’s killed anyone. Thought we were just tryin’ ‘t prove it, not slay him.”

“But if he _is_ , then it’s our civic, like, duty to do something about it.”

“Did either of you two idiots consider that stabbing someone through the heart would also kill a human? Are you trying to prove Zayn’s a vampire or spend the rest of your lives in jail for murder?”

“Oh. Good point, Lou. Okay, no staking. Silver bullets are probably off the table too, but maybe we could do something with a silver cross?”

“Honestly, Harry.”)

Niall’s vision has gone a bit blurry around the edges and he has to concentrate so he doesn’t spill his pint as he takes another pull. It’s a wasted effort, because Harry slumps into his side, making him slosh beer over his hands.

“Th’fuck, Haz,” he slurs, settling the pint back on the table with the over-cautiousness of the incredibly inebriated before slinging his arm around Harry.

Harry nuzzles his face into Niall’s neck. “Lou’s ignoring me,” he whines sadly.

“I know,” Niall says darkly. They’d barely stepped foot into the pub near campus before Louis spotted Zayn’s mate that he’d met at the party, promptly dropping Niall and Harry to go fawn over _Liam_. It wasn’t that Niall was jealous (Harry had a monopoly on jealousy, anyhow); it was that Niall didn’t trust Louis not to let anything embarrassing slip to Liam.

Like, for example, that Niall had spent several hours considering the possibility that his mate was actually a vampire.

Niall watches from across the room as Louis whispers something into Liam’s ear, sees the way Liam’s eyes widen momentarily before he bursts out laughing. Harry makes a pathetic sound, burrowing deeper into Niall’s side.

More shots are probably a bad idea. Niall talks Harry into ordering some anyway.

-

Sunday morning, Niall wakes up dead.

Or, he’s alive, rather. But he _wishes_ he were dead.

The only consolation is that Harry is as miserable as he is, and also that Louis didn’t actually make it home last night so he can’t be mean to them.

“He probably spent the night with _Liam_ ,” Harry sniffles. He’s taking up over half of the bed with his spaghetti limbs, greasy curls threatening to suffocate Niall.

“‘And that bothers ya why, exactly?”

“I don’t like sharing, Niall. Louis is _ours_. Liam can’t have him.”

Niall pets Harry’s hair until the movement makes him feel nauseous. Actually, just breathing makes him feel nauseous. God, he’s so fucking hungover.

“Sorry, Haz,” he mumbles. “Think that’s Louis’ choice, though.”

“Hmmpf,” Harry says. Niall closes his eyes and hopes that the next time he wakes up, the pounding his head will feel less like a jackhammer.

-

Niall’s already gone to bed by the time Louis makes it back to the dorm and he’s snoring blissfully when Niall’s alarm goes off in the morning to get him up for English.

Cursing softly, Niall scrambles into whatever clothes he’s left strewn around the floor and hastily brushes his teeth before he’s out the door. There’s only a month left of the semester, which means there’s only a month left of getting up before eight to make it to English.

It also means there’s only a month left to bring his grade up.

He gets to class early, but for once Winston’s smug beard is nowhere to be seen. The lecture hall slowly fills up, save, as always, for Zayn, and Niall can’t stop the way his foot starts tapping nervously.

Finally, with only a minute until the start of class, Winston saunters in, taking his usual place behind the podium. Niall doesn’t take in a single word of his lecture, too busy worrying over his paper grade to focus on Winston’s rambling voice. He practically runs to the podium after class has finished, nearly knocking into students trying to leave.

“Um, excuse me, sir,” he says when Winston doesn’t look up from where he’s carefully organizing his lecture notes.

“Yes, Mr. Horan?”

Niall swallows. “Did ya get a chance ‘t grade my paper?”

Winston finally looks up. “Oh, right. I’d nearly forgotten.” He digs around his briefcase for a moment, finally unearthing the paper. He offers it to Niall, who takes it with slightly trembling fingers.

At the top of the first page is a giant red B+. Niall nearly sags in relief.

Smiling, Winston says, “Impressive work, Horan. I’ll be assigning the final paper this week. I’d suggest you work with Zayn again, as you won’t have an opportunity to revise this time.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, sir.”

It doesn’t occur to Niall to text Zayn until he’s halfway home. He pulls out his phone to tap out a quick message.

_**got a B+ thanks mate!! i owe you one** _

A few minutes later, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_**buy me a drink and we’ll call it even x** _

Niall barely manages not to drop his phone when he reads the message. Before he can talk himself out of it, he quickly types out his response and hits send.

_**hahah if im buying, is it a date? ;)** _

He doesn’t breathe in the 30 seconds it takes for Zayn’s reply to come through.

_**can be if you want ;) pick you up friday at 8 xx** _

Swoon is a strong word. Niall attributes the weakness in his knees to the slow recovery from surgery he had a few years ago and almost convinces himself.

-

“You can’t go on a date with Zayn. What if he tries to attack you!”

Niall had managed to keep his secret for a record forty-five minutes before letting it slip to the boys. Now he stares at Harry in astonishment. “Are ya jokin’?

“Jesus, Harry, give it a rest,” Louis groans.

“He could be dangerous,” Harry insists mulishly.

“Or vampires could be imaginary. Have you considered that?”

Ignoring Louis, Harry turns to Niall beseechingly. “Please, Niall. Give me, like, a week to prove he’s a vampire before you go out with him. Its for your own safety.”

Harry’s all big green eyes and pouting rosebud mouth, which is completely unethical. Niall sighs.

“You have ‘til Friday. And I reserve the right ‘t call it off if Zayn starts ‘t suspect anything.”

“Please, Niall. I am the master of stealth.”

Louis snorts. “This is gonna be a train wreck.”

Niall is so fucked.

-

 _Operation: True Blood,_ as Harry has dubbed it, gets off to a rough start, mostly because Zayn continues to be elusive.

“Bet he sleeps in a coffin,” Harry muses. “Needs to get the rest.”  

“I’m going to put _you_ in a coffin,” Louis threatens.

Niall keeps shoveling cereal into his mouth. It’s too early to deal with Harry and Louis’ bickering. It’s too early for Zayn to make an appearance in the cafeteria  (“He’d burn in the light, I _told_ you guys.”) and the only redeeming thing about being up this early when he doesn’t have class is breakfast.

Which today is soggy cereal. Niall looks sadly down at his bowl of Wheetabix. Life is very unfair.

Life gets a little less unfair when dinner rolls around. They’re back in the cafeteria, at their usual table in the back corner, and Louis is methodologically tearing up his napkin into tiny bits and sprinkling them into Harry’s hair when he isn’t looking. The end effect looks like Harry has been caught in a snowstorm, or possibly has a very serious dandruff problem.

Harry doesn’t notice, which is the only reason he offers to take everyone’s trays to the bin. He wanders back a moment later, eyes wide with shock.

“Holy shit you guys. Oh my god, look, can you see him? No, don’t actually look, he’ll see!”

Louis huffs out an irritated breath. “Well which is it, Harold? Look or don’t look? What’re you carrying on about, anyhow?”

“Zayn,” Harry breathes. “He’s-- he’s drinking blood.”

Niall snaps his head up. “Are ya serious?”

Wordlessly, Harry jerks his head in what he probably thinks is a discrete sort of way, but makes white bits of napkin flutter to the floor. His brow furrows in confusion at the sight. Niall stops watching Harry after that, because he spots Zayn across the cafeteria.

Zayn is sitting with Liam, who is enthusiastically eating a plateful of food and chattering away animatedly. The only thing in front of Zayn, however, is a dark red drink that would look suspiciously like blood, if you didn’t know any better. Niall gets distracted for a minute, watching Zayn’s lips purse around the straw as he sucks down a mouthful.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” Louis scoffs. “It’s just a cherry smoothie.”

“Yeah? Tell me, Louis, since when do they sell smoothies in the cafeteria?”

Louis gives Harry a cool look. “Since when do they sell blood? ‘S a shitty argument. He probably bought it at 7-11.”

Shaking his head stubbornly, Harry frowns as more napkin bits fall out of his hair. “That’s just what he wants you to think. How else would he get away with being a vampire in plain sight? You’re falling for all his tricks, Lou.”

Burying his head in his hands, Louis moans, “I can’t believe I’m friends with a conspiracy theorist.” He drops his hands, shooting Harry an accusatory look. “You probably think Big Foot’s real.”

“Well, I mean, there is some really, like, compelling evidence that--”

“Three more days, Haz,” Niall interrupts before Harry can start monologuing about Big Foot. “Just three more to prove your theory.”

Harry looks determined. Louis shakes his head, but smiles fondly at Harry.

Niall waits until Louis is distracted, playing with his mobile, to glance back at Zayn’s table. Zayn and his smoothie have disappeared, but Liam is gathering up some crumpled napkins onto his tray. Niall watches as Liam pulls his phone from his pocket, grinning down at the screen.

Turning away, Niall accidentally catches Louis’ eye.

“Worried that Liam’s moving in on your man?”

“No,” Niall scoffs. He frowns. “Should I be?”

Louis ruffles his hair and Niall shoves him off. “Oi!”

“Leave all the worrying to me, Nialler.”

Niall decides that he should definitely be worried. About Liam, and Louis, and mostly about Harry, who’s finally managed to get the last of the napkin bits out of his hair.

“You guys,” he says seriously. “I think the cafeteria is haunted.”

-

The closer Niall’s date with Zayn comes, the more desperate Harry gets.

Niall’s sitting in class when his mobile vibrates with a new message. With a cautious glance at Winston, who’s still prattling on about their final paper, Niall slips the phone from his pocket.

_**Have you ever seen his reflection?** _

Oh, christ.

_**haz im in class. no i havent seen his reflection there arent mirrors in the library !** _

A minute later the screen lights up with Harry’s reply.

_**Suspicious, don’t you think?** _

Niall has to take a minute to compose himself before he can type out another message.

_**u think its suspicious that he wanted to meet in the library for tutoring??** _

Harry replies with a string of texts.

_**You don’t?** _

_**Hey where do they sell holy water.** _

_**Do you think I could get a priest to bless some dog poo.** _

_**Get it?** _

‘ _ **Cause it’d be holy shit.**_

Niall turns his phone off.

-

“I’m gonna do it.”

“Louis, if you’re truly my friend, you won’t let him do it.”

Clapping a hand on Niall’s shoulder, Louis says heavily, “Niall, I love you, mate, you know I do, but there is absolutely no way I’m stopping this.”

Niall drops his head onto his arms and groans while Louis turns to Harry. “You have my blessing. Go.”

With a grin, Harry shoves the last piece of garlic bread in his mouth, chewing noisily. He swallows it before climbing out of his chair and sauntering across the cafeteria towards Zayn’s table.

They need to stop eating in the cafeteria. Niall needs new friends, ones who won’t spend their time ruining his life. He should never, ever leave his room again. Apprehensively, Niall glances up to watch the train wreck unfold.

Zayn appears to be engrossed in a book, idly flipping through the pages as he sips at what could maybe be tea (but definitely isn’t blood, much to Harry’s disappointment). He doesn’t look up when Harry approaches and for a moment, Harry looks flummoxed. After a second, his face lights up in a smile that Niall can see from across the room. He takes two more deliberate steps towards Zayn before he trips over nothing, knocking directly into Zayn’s chair.

That, unsurprisingly, gets Zayn’s attention. He looks up, mildly annoyed, especially when Harry leans right into his space to apologize, jerking his head back reflexively. Niall has never seen someone look as uncomfortable as Zayn does in this moment, leaning as far back as he can in his chair to put some space between himself and Harry.

Acting oblivious, Harry continues to chatter away, his face awkwardly close to Zayn’s. He’s probably about ten seconds away from being punched when he finally backs off, ambling back to their table and flashing them a less than discrete thumbs up.

“Did you see that?” Harry whispers excitedly once he’s within earshot.

“Yeah,” Louis sounds amused. “Blatant disregard for personal space. I felt uncomfortable just watching. Well done, Harold.”

“No, it wasn’t -- it was the garlic! He couldn’t _stand_ it, oh my god, he physically, like, recoiled from my breath.”

“Definitive vampire proof. Irrefutable.”

“I know!” Harry gushes, too excited to catch Louis’ dry tone. He glances down at his phone and yelps. “Shit, I’m late, I have to - bye!” Where Harry needs to be at seven in the evening on a Wednesday is a mystery that Niall doesn’t particularly care to solve.

“Why are you encouraging him?” he complains as Harry disappears through the door. “He just blew garlic breath into Zayn’s _face_.”

Louis looks positively gleeful. “I know. I need to tell Liam. He’s going to die.”

“Liam?” Niall echoes. “What does Liam have to do with anything?”

Pulling out his phone, Louis absentmindedly pats Niall’s arm. “You’ll understand someday.”

It’s not exactly comforting.

-

The day before the date, Niall gets a series of increasingly concerning snapchats from Harry.

The first is just a close-up of Harry, his cross necklace dangling from his fingertips. The second is too blurry to make out much, but Harry has helpfully captioned it ‘zayn’s face’ and circled a vaguely head-shaped blob. The third is a sea of tables in the library with the same Zayn-shaped blob at the far end labeled ‘i’m going in.’

“Oh god,” Niall says out loud. A student sitting nearby gives him a dirty look and Niall hastily slips out of the lecture hall. He hadn’t been paying attention anyway, and unlike English he’s doing fine in music theory.

As soon as he’s in the hall, he calls Harry.

It rings four times before going to voicemail. He calls again. “Pick up pick up pick up oh my god Harry pick up the fucking--”

“Niall!” Harry finally chirps, voice tinny over the phone. “Did you get my snapchats?”

“ _Th_ _e_ _fuck did you do?_ ”

“It’s a really funny story actually. Zayn wears glasses, did you know?”

Niall blinks at the non sequitur. “And that’s… funny?”

“It’s lucky, actually. See, I was trying to, like, hit him with the cross, just to see if it would burn him or something--”

“You _what_?” Niall squawks.

“Well I didn’t throw it hard! I didn’t want to get too close, ‘cause what if he tried to attack me or something once his cover was blown? Anyway, I pretended that my necklace broke and threw it, really sneaky, right, only I sort of hit him in the eye on accident, but like I said, it was lucky about the glasses.”

“Oh my god. You tried to blind Zayn with a cross. That’s like. That’s not what Jesus died for, Haz!”

“He’s fine!” Harry wails so loudly that Niall has to pull the phone away from his ear. “It didn’t work anyway, because it hit his glasses and then bloody Liam handed me the necklace back.”

“You threw your necklace at Zayn in front of Liam?”

“Yes?” Harry sounds stumped. “What was I supposed to do, ask him to leave? I’m working under a deadline, here. Trying to save your life, I might add.”

“Zayn’s done nothing ‘t endanger my life. You’re the one who nearly blinded him! Jesus, what did he say?”

“Nothing. He did glare at me though. Oh my god, you don’t think he tried to curse me do you?”

Niall slumps back against the wall. “You’d deserve it.”

“Heyyyy,” Harry protests, drawing the word out long enough that Niall hangs up on him before he’s finished talking.

-

Since Harry is too busy doing his best impression of a sulking toddler and Louis’ already thin patience wears through after Niall tries on outfit number five, Niall has to make the decision about what to wear on the date all by himself. Putting on a brave face, he angles around to check out his arse in the mirror. Not bad.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Louis interrupts.

Niall looks down at his outfit. The trousers are on the skinny side, but he’d thought it was okay.

“Uh. Yeah?”

Louis raises his eyebrow. “It’s November.”

“So?” Niall crosses his arms defensively.

“So don’t you think you’re going to get a little cold with no sleeves?”

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Niall flops down on his bed. It’s amazing how much bigger it feels when there isn’t a half-naked Harry taking over half the mattress. Niall hears him sniff with disapproval, but he can’t tell if its at Niall’s inability to dress himself or the pile of dirty socks he’s currently sharing Louis’ bed with.

Turning his head so his mouth isn’t pressed into the fabric of his pillow, Niall moans sadly, “Help me, Harry. Zayn’s going to be here in less than an hour and I _don’t have any sleeves_.”

“Wear a scarf,” Harry advises him. “It’ll keep you warm and then he won’t be able to bite your neck.”

Niall can _hear_ Louis roll his eyes. “Always so practical, Harold. You must make your mother proud.”

“Hey,” Niall sits up, protesting. “Anne is a lovely woman. Don’t bring her into this.”

Harry beams at him. “Thanks, Niall.” His eyes widen suddenly. “Hey, I just thought of a brilliant plan! Me and Lou should follow you, like, stealth-like, to make sure Zayn doesn’t try anything.”

“You do realize that you’re not actually a vampire hunter, right? Like, even if we were living in an alternative universe where vampires were real, and Zayn specifically was a vampire, you still wouldn’t be able to stop him.”

Harry pouts. “Shut up, Lou. I’d be Buffy. You know I would.”

With a dramatic sigh, Louis climbs to his feet and stalks over to Niall’s closet, digging through the messy pile of clothes. He finally unearths a shirt with long sleeves, chucking it at Niall’s head.

“Wear that,” he orders. “It looks good on you. I’ll babysit Harry.”

Niall smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks, Louis. I owe you.”

Louis grins back. “Let’s re-evaluate that in a few hours, shall we?”

Niall doesn’t have time to figure out what the fuck that’s supposed to mean and disappears into the bathroom to comb his hair into something that resembles style.

-

It doesn’t come as a surprise that the knock on his door comes at half-past eight. Niall swings it open immediately to a sheepish looking Zayn.

“Sorry ‘m late,” he says, “I--”

“Lost track of time?” Niall grins.

Zayn ducks his head. “Somethin’ like that.” He looks up at Niall through his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth. Niall has half a mind to grab Harry’s inhaler. Instead, he steps out of the room before Harry or Louis can say something embarrassing, shutting it firmly behind him.

If Zayn thinks it’s odd that Niall doesn’t introduce him to his roommate, he doesn’t say. Instead he smiles shyly at Niall, wrapping long fingers around his wrist to tug him down the hall. When they reach the stairs, Zayn loosens his grip to let Niall’s hand fall, but instead Niall twines his fingers through Zayn’s.

Zayn doesn’t drop his hand the entire walk to the restaurant.

-

Over the course of dinner, Niall learns several very important things. Samosas are absolutely delicious, and Zayn can put away an impressive number of them. If Harry’s theories are to be believed, then he definitely isn’t a vampire. Niall comes up with a few theories of his own. Mostly that there’s no way a vampire’s giggle could sound as cute as Zayn’s and also that he will never, ever get tired of the sound. He plans to test that second theory out, even if it takes the rest of his life.

When the check comes, Zayn waves Niall’s offer to pay away. “I invited you, I’ll cover it.” His lips curve up into a sly smile. “And anyway, I think you still owe me a drink.”

Niall feels a little giddy. “We could walk ‘t the pub next door?”

“I need to run to the bathroom quick, but I’ll meet you out front in a minute,” Zayn offers.

It’s actually seven minutes, not that Niall’s counting, but he thinks Zayn’s inability to do anything on time is part of his charm. That, and his eyelashes. Niall wonders if Zayn’s ever worn mascara before he remembers that his jeans are too tight to be entertaining that dangerous line of thinking.

As promised, Niall buys Zayn his drink and promptly gets distracted watching his throat work as he swallows. Zayn seems somewhat distracted, eyes sweeping the pub every few minutes like he’s watching for something. Niall only notices because Zayn’s gaze had been so intent on him in the restaurant, like Niall was the only person in the room and everyone else was just an afterthought. He sips at his pint, telling Zayn a half-hearted story about the time Harry got locked out his room bare-arsed naked.

Zayn finally meets his gaze with an apologetic look after he misses laughing at the punchline. “Sorry, sorry, ‘m just - think I need a smoke. Mind if I step out?”

“Sure, yeah. No problem.”

Sliding out of his seat, Zayn hesitates. “You wanna come?”

Knocking back the last of his pint, Niall grins. “Yeah.”

He follows Zayn’s winding path through the crowded pub, finally escaping to the back patio. Unsurprisingly, they’re the only ones out there braving the November chill. Niall tries to suppress a shiver, rubbing his hands over his arms while Zayn lights up a cigarette, blowing out a stream of smoke.

He glances at Niall with amusement. “Cold?”

“Fuckin’ freezing,” Niall complains.

Zayn beckons him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders when he settles next to Zayn on the bench. Niall wrinkles his nose at the scent of cigarette smoke, but leans gratefully into Zayn’s side, his warmth bleeding through the layers of fabric between them.

Seemingly content to sit in silence, Zayn takes another drag while Niall tucks his head under Zayn’s chin, burrowing into his side.

When Zayn speaks again, his voice is a little rougher, like the smoke has clung to his throat, catching on the smooth syllables and turning them jagged. “You’re friends with that Harry kid, aren’t you?”

It takes a second for the words to process. “Um,” Niall says. “How - how d’ya know Harry?”

The orange glow of the patio light washes over Zayn’s knowing smile, but his eyes are bathed in shadows.

“He’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

“He - listen, it’s not what you’re thinking, Harry’s just, he -”

“Thinks ‘m a vampire, doesn’t he?”

Niall gapes, twisting around to look Zayn in the eyes. His lips are still pulled into a smirk, but his eyes are dark and unreadable.

“How th’fuck do you _know_ that?”

Zayn shrugs, an elegant roll of his shoulder. Taking one last drag off his cigarette, he flicks the butt away. Niall’s eyes track the glowing ember as it arches through the air before it lands on the ground, finally being snuffed out by the toe of Zayn’s boot.

“Do _you_ think ‘m a vampire?” Zayn asks conversationally instead of answering Niall’s question.

“What? No, that’s - it’s ridiculous.”

Zayn makes a noncommittal noise. “Is it?”

He turns towards Niall, and the lamplight glints off white teeth. Niall swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and Zayn’s gaze drops to his pulse point. Dragging up the hand he still has wrapped around Niall’s shoulder, Zayn’s fingers come to rest against the skin of his neck, gripping him gently.

He leans in, close enough that Niall can smell the smoke still on his breath. “Promise this won’t hurt a bit,” he whispers, and then he’s ducking his head down, pressing his mouth to Niall’s neck, and Niall feels the sting of sharp teeth, and he can’t, he needs to breathe, he needs -

Suddenly loud, wheezing laughter interrupts and Zayn pulls back abruptly. Niall slaps his hand against his neck on reflex, but there’s no blood, Zayn didn’t break the skin, and that’s - that’s _Louis’_ laugh, he realizes belatedly.

Niall looks around, dumbfounded. Louis is leaning against the back door, doubled over with laughter. Zayn’s grinning, a pleased smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

“Your face Niall, oh my god,” Louis wheezes.

Looking back and forth between Louis and Zayn, the pieces slowly fall into place. “You - you were in on this! How did you, oh my god, how long were you - “

Louis looks like he might actually piss himself, which Niall doesn’t even feel a little bit bad about. Still grinning, Zayn takes pity on him and his inability to form a complete sentence. “I swear, Liam only told me a few days ago. He and Louis thought it’d be funny to trick you.”

“It wasn’t funny,” Niall says darkly. His heart is still thudding wildly in his chest.

“It was _hilarious_ ,” Louis counters. “I thought you were gonna shit yourself!”

Zayn bites his lip at the look on Niall's face. “‘M sorry. It was a _little_ funny, though.”

Shaking his head, Niall moans, “Why didn’t you trick Harry? He’s the one who started this!”

Louis exchanges a glance with Zayn. “Funny you should ask, Niall. Are you interested in helping us with Act Two?”

“Please?” Zayn adds. “I promise there will be no non-consensual biting.”

Arms crossed across his chest, Niall lets them sweat a bit before letting his lips twitch into a smile. “And what about consensual biting?”

Zayn grins back at him. “Oh, god,” Louis groans. “You guys are going to be disgusting together, aren’t you? I already regret this. Where’s Liam, I need someone I can depend on to not be a complete sop.”

“Chill, Louis,” Zayn says, slinging his arm over Louis’ shoulders. “Priorities, yeah? We need to update Niall on the plan.” He winks at Niall, who definitely does _not_ swoon.

“I bet Harry’ll shit his pants,” Louis declares with confidence.

-

Harry doesn’t shit his pants, but he stops speaking to them for three entire days when he figures out he’s been had. In the end, they have to bribe him with enough out of season, organic fruit to put a serious dent in Niall’s wallet.

It’s totally worth it, though, to hear Zayn’s near hysterical laughter at the look on Harry’s face.

-

Zayn’s actually in class the day Niall gets his final paper back, slumped in a seat next to Niall and looking half asleep.

Or, actually asleep, Niall realizes when he has to shake Zayn’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Zayn. _Zayn_. Oh my god, Zayn, _I got an A-_.”

Zayn blinks at him sleepily. “Congrats, babe. Told you.”

Niall presses a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth, because that’s a thing he gets to do now. When he tries to pull back, Zayn makes a little noise of protest and tugs him in for a proper kiss. They only break apart when Winston clears his throat.

“Er, sorry sir,” Niall mumbles.

Winston looks far too smug. “Enjoy your holidays, boys. Glad to see you’ll be moving on next term.”

Beneath the desk, Zayn’s hand squeezes his and Niall can't help the smile that pulls at his lips. “Thanks, sir. Really appreciate all you’ve done for me this semester.”

 

 

**[Several Months Later]**

 

 

The buzzing of his mobile pulls him from sleep and Niall reaches out to grab it from the table without opening his eyes. He cracks them open blearily to read Harry’s message and immediately regrets it.

_**You ever notice that Liam never goes out on the full moon? Awfully suspicious if you ask me.** _

Groaning, Niall buries his head in the pillow. He can feel a puff of warm air against his bare shoulder as Zayn laughs sleepily, nudging his side. “What? What it’d say?”

Not looking up, Niall grips his mobile and shoves it blindly towards Zayn. There’s a moment of silence before Zayn hums, considering.

“You know,” he finally says, voice carefully neutral. “Liam does leave an unnatural amount of hair in the sink. Harry could be on to something here.”

In disbelief, Niall raises his face enough to stare at Zayn, who bursts out laughing.

“You’re such a fuckin’ prick,” he grouses.

“Could be fucking your prick, if you roll over,” Zayn suggests.

“Use that line on all the boys, do you?”

“Mmm,” Zayn hums. “Just the most important one.”

Niall grins, all thoughts of going back to sleep quickly evaporating. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments and feedback are always welcome :) 
> 
> you can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com)!


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